


Ichor

by moosesmittens, rrc



Series: Fiddauthor Fest 2016 [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Abusive Bill Cipher, Action/Suspense, Angst, Day 4: Bill Cipher, FiddAuthor Fest, Fiddauthor Fest 2016, Fiddauthor Week, Fiddauthor Week 3, Fidds is scarred for life again, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Other, Secret Crush, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Wordcount: Over 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7571797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moosesmittens/pseuds/moosesmittens, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rrc/pseuds/rrc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiddleford and Stanford agree to wander into the woods to look for something for Bill...in the dead of night...with no one around for miles...you know, as people do. </p><p>  <em>(Fiddauthor Fest 2016, Day 4: Bill Cipher)</em></p><p>((<em><a href="http://themadcapmathematician.tumblr.com/post/148162689853/ichor">tumblr.</a></em>))</p><p>((<em><a href="http://themadcapmathematician.tumblr.com/tagged/fiddauthor-fest-2016-op">tumblr fest tag.</a></em>))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ichor

**Author's Note:**

> _Warnings_ : Blood, injuries, violence, threats of torture and murder, Bill being his abusive, bullying, evil self, and some swearing.

Fiddleford stares into the dark, black void behind the treeline. The bark of the oaks and maples glows a gory shade of red off of his headlamp, making the trees look somewhat demonic. It sends shivers up and down his spine, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He doesn't dare glance at his partner, the man who dragged him hours away from the nearest town in the dead of night. The man he can only trust half of the time, if that. The man who's hardly himself but half the time. He does his best to shove those thoughts away.

"Stanford, remind me again what we're doin' out here in the middle of the forest at such an ungodly hour?"

He quietly hopes this was all Ford's idea and not...someone else's...

Why in God's name did he agree to this again?

Ford couldn’t deny that the whole place sent a chill running through him. The trees loom above him, silent and still. No wind, not even a breeze.

Bill would explain all this. Bill always does. It would all make sense why they’d been directed here.

“It’s for the portal.” Ford says, his boots crashing through the dead undergrowth. It’s far too loud for his liking.

“It’ll all be explained. Trust me.”

Bill chuckles to himself. This is just too perfect! He's not sure who's more gullible - IQ, or his idiot pet hillbilly. <It's around here somewhere, Sixer! Just gotta keep lookin' and stuff!>

<Right! And you’re sure this will help the portal, yes?> Ford replies in his mind.

It’s not that he doubts his muse or anything but he does like to be aware of the situation… He trusts Bill! Bill’s a great and trustworthy guy!

<hrm?> Bill looks up from filing his nails. <oh yeah, yeah sure! It'll be great for working on the portal! it'll be a real _game changer_! >

Fiddleford bites his lip. Trust him. If only he could...

He glances at Ford. "What do ya mean by that? Why don't ya just tell me?"

Ford shrugs. “Look, I don’t know all the details, Fidds! It’s around here somewhere, we just need to look!” He says, his nerves making the words shorter than intended.

Fiddleford stops in his tracks, staring at Ford. "What do ya mean ya 'don't know all the details'? Did...did _Bill_ put ya up to this? Was this _his_ idea?"

 _Shit._ Fiddleford might let Stanford Pines drag him into the middle of the woods at 4 in the morning, but not that evil, conniving little triangle. He should have know. He should have _known_...

The air suddenly seems too cold, the night too quiet. In fact, come to think of it, there's no noise at all. No crickets, no owls, not even the rustle of something creeping around in the bushes. It's silent. And empty. And oh so far away from a single living soul...and they're suddenly an awful lot farther away from the truck that Fiddleford remembers...

“Hey! No need to be like that!” Ford says. “Bill’s a friend, we can trust him!” He doubles back to put a reassuring hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder.

Sure, Fidds didn’t get along well with Bill but there was no need to be scared!

“Trust me, okay? You can trust me on this, right?” He stares at his friend in earnest.

Fiddleford flinches. He steps away, one tiny step to the side. The guilt floods him before he can back away any more.

"I...I..."

Does he trust him? Fiddleford had mulled over the question before, but he has yet to have a real answer. Ford is so _blind_...

But that's hardly the real concern. Ford isn't the person he need to watch out for.

He stares at Ford's eyes, half expecting to see that ghastly slit of a pupil. His shaking hand struggles to keep ahold of the flashlight.

Fiddleford wants to go back to the truck. But he can't leave Ford out here. Not alone, not with...not with him...

He remembers one time, Bill musing to him casually as he was holding the wet specimen jar of a two-headed kitten, that he liked the both of them, he really did. And he hopes they work together for a good long time, he does. But it's a shame mortals are so damn _fragile_...

Then he dropped the jar, and it shattered into a million little pieces, formaldehyde splattering the front of Ford's coat. Fiddleford had leaped back, retching into the crook of his arm, flecks of the chemical seeping into his shoes. Bill shrugged, not even flinching, as if it was nothing.

 _Whoops! oh well, at least you can always get another one, right? these things are a dime a dozen, real_ replaceable _and all! It's not a big deal if you_ break _one of them, you know?_

And then he laughed. He laughed right up until Ford came to, coughing and gasping.

Fiddleford took responsibility for breaking the jar.

Fiddleford forces a smile. "I...I just think we oughta...do this, some other time? It's awful dark right now..."

Ford snorts. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Fidds?” He tries to ruffle his hair good-heartedly.

Fiddleford stiffens, but manages not to move away. "I think I left it back at the house. Maybe we oughta go get it..." He mutters, forcing a nervous laugh.

“I-It’s the best time! No one’s around, you know?” Ford tries to be jovial, keep the tremor out of his voice.

Fiddleford glances around. "Yeah...the best time..." _To murder one or both of us and get rid of the bodies..._

Ford shivers. He feels like the the trees are reaching out to him with long spindly fingers, the moon is cold and pale. “I-It’s just a little cold, I guess! But we won’t be out for long, right Bill?”

Bill meanwhile, is trying to contain his glee. <Oh yeah, not long, not long at all....> He chuckles. <Just keep looking around! You'll know it when you see it!>

Ford brightens at that. “See? Bill says it won’t take long! Just a few more minutes and we’ll head back home, okay?” He reaches out to wrap his warm hand around Fiddleford’s chilled fingers.

“Promise, okay?”

Fiddleford grips Stanford's hand. he takes a deep breath and exhales. This is Ford, this is Ford and he's not gonna hurt you...

Fiddleford glances down at Ford's hand. One too many times, he'd seen those hands turn destructive, glimpsed them as they pushed him down a flight of stairs or held an iron to Ford's skin.

He wishes he could just feel calm, but at best, all he seems capable of feeling is detached and numb.

He manages to nod and keep that smile up. "Ok." he says, his voice almost inaudibly soft even in this eerie stillness.

Ford gives those clammy fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s go find this thing then, shall we? Like a scavenger hunt! Remember those ones we did in college together? We were miles ahead of everyone else.” He beams, letting Fiddleford’s hand go.

“Child’s play, right?” He says, trying to feel as high spirited as he sounded.

Fiddleford's smile becomes a little more genuine at the fond memory. "Y-yeah..." he mutters. "Easy..."

He can do this, right? Get whatever they're looking for, get out, go home.

he chews on his lip again, looking to the ground.

Ford strides forward, seemingly confident. “So.. uh… Yeah. We just got to find whatever the thing is…”

<Uh, Bill…? What does this thing even look like?>

Bill laughs. <like I said, you'll know it when you see it!>

Ford can’t help the tiny pinch of frustration. “Bill… It’s dark. I can’t see a thing out here. Can you at least give us a hint?”

Bill sighs, exasperated. <C'mon, I thought you were some sort of _genius_ or something, Doc! Besides, it's weird, it's out there, and it's important to the project! What more do you really need?>

Ford matches the sigh, equally exasperated. “Fine… I’m sorry, Bill. I just … I’m still a human. I’m still weak compared to an all-powerful muse like yourself. We just need some assurance I guess…”.

Bill sighs again. _Don't I know it!_ <it's alright, it's not a big deal! Just, you know, try and do what you can and this'll all work out, ok?>

Fiddleford follows Ford reluctantly, navigating the brush and bramble, glancing back at Ford ever so often to check for changes in body language. His eyes narrow as he listens to one side of the conversation going on in front of him. It sounds more like a trick to him, but it was always a trick with Bill. It's difficult to tell where the lies end and the truth begins with that demonic creature. Fiddleford also can't shake the feeling that the truth in this case is not a pleasant one.

His skin crawls, goosebumps knit themselves into his flesh. He shoulda brought a warmer coat. he should never have come at all, actually. They shoulda stayed at the house... they could be sipping hot cocoa by the fire, talking about string theory and eyebats and the Rutherford B. Hayes assassination, maybe curling up together and falling asleep in each other's arms...

He shakes he head, clearing it of the fantasy. That would be weird. Weird and creepy. Ford would never be ok with that...or would he?

Fiddleford works his teeth into his lip, gripping the flashlight. Well, perhaps he'll never know now...

Ford pauses for a moment. “Fidds? Hey, you okay there, my friend?”

Fiddleford knows he should try to fake another smile, but he certainly doesn't feel like it. "Oh, fine, I'm fine..." he exhales. "just wonderin' what we're out lookin' for..." he frowns. "What _are_ we lookin’ for, by the way? what did...Bill say to you?"

Ford tries for a reassuring smile. “We just have to trust him, okay? We’ll know what it is when we see it. That’s what he said.”

Fiddleford can't help but scoff. "Ain't much of a clue. If this were a college scavenger hunt, I'd complain to the administration."

Ford shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. But maybe it's something really obvious!"

Fiddleford snorts. "It better be, otherwise I say we oughta head back..."

He'd love to head back right now, but he has a feeling that suggestion won't be well-received...

Ford shakes his head. "No. Whatever is out here will help us with the portal. We must press on." He hoists his backpack and continues through the undergrowth, dead leaves crunching under his boots.

Fiddleford grumbles, pushing some overgrowth out of the way. "We don't have much to go on, Stanford. From where i'm standin', this is more akin to a wild goose chase than a scavenger hunt."

Bill does some grumbling of his own. <Yap, yap, yap, that lab assistant of your sure does a lot of complaining! Doesn't he have _any_ faith in you? >

Stuck between two sources of grumbling, Ford sighs irritably.

"Fidds, please. Just have a little faith in me."

Fiddleford exhales, muttering. "It's not you I don't have faith in.."

Ford barely hears what Fiddleford says, his words whipped away by a sudden gust of wind. Leaves are scattered and the trees sway precariously.

“Bill? Is this the sign you meant is this—?”

Ford cuts off sharply. They’re standing in front of a clearing in the forest, a shard of moonlight illuminating it. And in the centre is a pure white stag, grazing peacefully despite the wind whipping into a frenzy around it. As though it was standing within the eye of a hurricane.

Fiddleford stares, breathless. He's seen so many things he'd never have dreamed of seeing since his time in Gravity Falls, but this creature is...something else. Something magnificent. Something holy.

He wants to speak, but the wind is too loud to do anything but shout, and he dare not disturb the stag. He reaches up, removes his headlight, and turns it off, all with his gaze fixed on the creature.

Bill stifles his urge to chortle with glee. There she is, there she fucking is...ah, he's going to _enjoy_ this...

It's... Beautiful." Ford breathes, despite the wind whipping away his words.

The stag raises its sculptured head for a moment, it's eyes are bottomless black pools glinting silver in the light.

Bill chuckles. <pretty, right?>

Fiddleford can't even bring himself to say anything, he just stares with his mouth gaping. He walks a few steps closer, until he's standing beside Stanford, their shoulder's a few centimeters away from each other.

Ford can feel Fidds’ presence close to him. He’s never felt more close to someone as he shares the experience of the creature.

“Is it causing the wind?” He murmurs to his friend, Bill ignored for the moment.

The stag must know they’re there… But it lowers it’s great head and continues to crop at the grass. If it was afraid of them… It would have run. It must not see them as a threat. The thought warms Ford’s body, cutting through the chill of the wind.

Fiddleford shakes his head. He mutters. "I dunno. Maybe. Likely." he leans over and whispers. "Stanford, what is that creature?"

Ford is transfixed. Muscle ripples under the creature’s glowing snow-white coat, fluid yet still all at once. “It’s a stag… But I believe… There must be more to it… If it were any wild creature it would not let us get so close…” His voice is scarcely a whisper, but the wind has died down now… Only a faint breeze disturbs the air.

Fiddleford nods. "I'm guessin' even 'round here...most creatures aren't proceeded by windstorms and moonlight and whatnot..."

Fiddleford realizes suddenly he's hovering rather close to Stanford...maybe he oughta step aside a little or...

Before he knows it, his hand is reaching out and resting on Ford's shoulder. "You wanna...sketch it, or...?"

Ford nods, not even moving for a moment. “Yes… I think sketching it would be a good idea… Can you hand me my journal, please?” He breathes.

Bill, irritated he's being shoved aside, suddenly bursts into a fit of laughter. <man, look at that pompous bag of gas, running around like it owns the place!> Bill snorts. <what a douchenozzle!>

Ford pulls his own headlamp off, setting it on the ground. He leans forward, eyes wide. “I hypothesise it’s some kind of forest spirit… Maybe this is just one of the many forms it takes…” He murmurs, feeling a pinch of irritation at Bill’s laughter ringing in his head.

Muse or not, he should really be a little bit more reverent about this!

Fiddleford reaches into his pocket and gingerly pulls out the journal. He taps Ford on the shoulder and hands it to him. He also hands Ford a pencil. "Think it'll stick around?"

“I’m not sure…” Ford murmurs, giving Fiddleford an appreciative smile as he takes the journal and pencil and turns it to a fresh new page.

Bill senses Ford's irritation. <c'mon man, it isn't all it’s cracked up to be! Like it can eat grass in the forest and change the weather, who doesn't do a little of that now and then?> Bill laughs. <Anyway, i'd sketch fast if I were you, because we've got some stuff we need to get to and Bambi here is the key to it!>

Ford’s only vaguely aware of Bill’s words in his mind and he pushes them away again. He has to concentrate. The sound of pencil scratching against paper fills the silence. Ford moves his hand in steady strokes, forming the creature’s image. It remains, occasionally raising it’s head to scan the surroundings before resuming its grazing. Ears twitch and swivel in all directions.

Fiddleford smiles, his gaze lingering for a moment before turning back to the creature. Its ivory fur seems almost to be glowing in the moonlight. Maybe it is, for all Fiddleford knows. It's one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen...

Fiddleford glances back at Stanford. He's so fixated on his work, nothing else matters in moments like these. Fiddleford's always liked that about Stanford, though it can be frustrating sometimes. He takes a smug satisfaction in realizing how crazy this is probably driving Bill. The conniving little muse can seem otherworldly, ancient, and unknowable, but if there's one thing Fiddleford knows for certain about him it’s that he can't stand not having attention, especially Ford's attention. Upstaged by a glowing deer, that's gotta piss the slimy little triangle off a bit.

Fiddleford finally turns back to the stag, but he continues stealing looks at Ford. A fond smile finds its way onto Fiddleford's lips. Stanford has the most adorable face when he's concentrating. He knits his brows, and sticks out his tongue a little while he draws. Every once in a while, he'll shove his glasses up past his nose again.  
  
And Ford is so taken by his drawing, he's not going to notice if Fiddleford's focus isn't on the creature, right? it wouldn't be a crime if Fiddleford indulged a couple of drawn-out glimpses, maybe even something akin to staring...

There's a passion in Stanford's face and movements as he animatedly slashes sketchy lines against the paper, motions that eventually turn into soft shading and careful detailing. The dim blue light sculpts out every inch of his face. The moonlight creates something of a halo around Ford's hair, making him look almost luminescent, too. Fiddleford sighs softly. 

Finally, Ford finishes his sketch and lifts it to show Fiddleford.

“What do you think?”

Fiddleford startles when Stanford speaks to him, holding up his art. "I-it, it..." He glances at Ford's face, that earnest expression, the excitement in his eyes. "It's lovely, Stanford." he smiles.

Ford feels a heady rush bolt through him, warmth spreading across his cheeks.

“Thanks, Fidds… Here.” He murmurs, edging a little closer to hand back to journal to him. For a moment they’re close. So close he can see every shade of blue in Fiddleford’s eyes, the glint of silver on the rim of his glasses… The shape of his lips…

Bill snorts. Jesus Christ, even as far as lovesick humans go, these two are  _pathetic_.  <Great, great, that's all great, glad you got your scribbling in. Can we move on, please? The night's a-wasting!>

Bill’s voice rings in Ford’s ears and he sighs, pulling away to focus his attention back on the stag.

“Uh… Sorry, Bill.” He clears his throat, heat crawling up his neck. “W-What did you say? Does this creature have knowledge for the portal or something?”

 _Seriously? Seriously?!_ Bill chuckles, burying the little jab of anger as best as he can.  <Let's just say that, if you let me take over a spell, I feel it can help me get to the _heart_ of the matter...  >

Fiddleford looks away. Gosh-darned triangle...gosh-darned annoying little...

He sighs, tucking the journal back into his coat. Maybe it's for the best. It was kind of a silly idea, all this, after all...

Ford looks at Fiddleford, almost regretfully. As though he wished something else had happened… He’s not sure what. But now… He has to focus.

“Ah, Fidds? Bill says he needs to take over for a bit.”

Fiddleford looks up sharply. His whole body goes stiff. "He does? Why?"

he grips the flashlight in his hand.

“Something about getting the heart of the matter. Probably will just speak to it. If you could take notes, that’d be great.” Ford says, his gaze focused on the stag once more.

Fiddleford doesn't trust Bill as far as he can throw him. And, seeing how he's some kind of non-corporeal voice that lives in Ford's head, that's not a particularly long distance.

He holds the flashlight like a weapon in his trembling hand. It's always a trick with Bill...always...can't trust him, he says one thing and means another…

“I guess ethereal creatures can only talk to other ethereal creatures…” Ford muses before giving Fiddleford a smile.

Fiddleford glance down at the flashlight for a moment, then back to Ford. Dangit...He can't hurt Stanford, not one hair on his brilliant, oblivious head. He puts the flashlight back in his bag.

"I don't like it, Stanford." he mutters. "Bill..." _is a vicious careless monster who's done more awful things than you can imagine when he possesses you_ "...has some methods of doing things I don't always agree with...."

Ford purses his lips. Fiddleford’s overreacting, there’s no point in arguing now.

“Well! See you on the other side!” He announces with a grin, swinging his arm across his chest with enthusiasm.

<Do what you need to do, Bill.>

<It'll be my pleasure, Sixer!>

It feels like all the air has been knocked out of Fiddleford’s lungs. "No, Stanford, wait!"

He sees the change in Ford's posture long before the yellow glow overtakes his eyes. Bill slouches, his movements are erratic and lackadaisical. It's like he doesn't have a single care or concern in the world, and it's probably because he doesn't. He smiles too much, talks too loud, takes up too much space. He's the exact opposite of Stanford in almost every way, it's impossible to miss.

When Ford looks up with those slitted pupils, Fiddleford's heart has already sunk to the bottom of his chest.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite lovesick hillbilly!" Bill grins that Cheshire grin. "Must really tick you off, knowing someone else gets to spend so much time inside your boyfriend, haha!"

Fiddleford bristles. “He’s not my…! It don’t matter… Just… Just get on with whatever you’re here to do!” He spits, pointing the flashlight at the creature in his best friend’s body. He wishes the light would impale the triangle and knock him all the way back to whatever hellhole it crawled of.

Bill chuckles. "Easy there, Fiddler! Don't get your panties all in a bunch!" He pulls the bag off his back and rummages through it a little. "I'll make it fast! I know how much you miss Fordsy when he takes a little nappy wappy and I come out to play!"

He feels the atmosphere shift, the energy of the place changing. he has to move quickly if he's going to do this.

Fiddleford’s blood boils and thrums under his skin. He sets his jaw at the mockery. Not like he’s not used to mockery. It’s just Bill seemed to go about it like a bully in a children’s playground.

He notices the stag at the corner of his eye. It’s alert now, body rigid and taut. It quivers, nose twitching the air. It must sense the new presence… Fiddleford vaguely wonders if it’ll attack.

And then a voice begins to speak.

“ **Demon.** ” The voice thunders through the soil and reverberates off the trees as though the clearing were a cathedral.

“ **You are not welcome here. Leave.** “

Bill stuffs something from the bag in his pocket and hides something else behind his back. "Not welcome here? Well that's a shame, because here I am!" He clucks his tongue. "Honestly, that's no way to treat a _guest_..."

He steps over the bushes and bramble and swaggers up to the stag. "We haven't been properly reintroduced! Pity, isn't it, you kicking me out before we even get to being all nice and reacquainted..."

Fiddleford isn’t sure he’s hated someone as much as he hates Bill. The way he just uses Ford’s body for his own purposes. Everything about those familiar six fingers and brown coat and smell of earth and parchment… Besmirched by this… _creature._ This _demon_!

And it didn’t seem like Bill wanted to talk to the stag, either. Fiddleford's heart drops when he sees the glint of metal behind Bill’s back.

The axe.

The Forest Spirit snorts, pawing the ground and lowering it’s almighty antlers towards the intruder.

“ **I have warned you, demon. I see your intent. I see your ill use of the pure-hearted vessel!** “ The voice is everywhere at once, the sky darkening and wind howling. Trees thrash in the wind, branches reach to claw the intruder apart.

Fiddleford shrinks back, watching the scene with terror.

“ _Stanford_! Bill! If you hurt Stanford I’ll… I’ll rip ya apart!” He yells over the howl of the wind.

The stag rears and the earth trembles under its cloven hooves.

“ **LEAVE OR DIE!** “

Bill relishes the chaos careening and shrieking all around him. He throws his head back and lets loose a wild, unstable cackle. "HRM, LET ME THINK ABOUT THAT FOR A MINUTE..."

He pulls out the thing in his pocket and tosses it at the spirit. It bursts into flames and sends cinders, smoke, and small bits of metal pin-pricking the stag's coat and skin.

He pulls the axe from out behind him, his smile so wide it looks like his whole face might just split right in half.

"IT'S A TEMPTING OFFER, BUT I THINK I GOT A BETTER IDEA! HOW'S ABOUT I JUST _HACK YOU TO LITTLE PIECES INSTEAD_?"

And with that, he grips the axe with both hands, swings it high, and rushes at the spirit, laughing all the while.

Fiddleford screams for Bill to stop, to leave Stanford out of this, to leave the Spirit alone. But his words are lost in the howl that is unleashed from the entire forest as the stag is littered with fire and metal.

“ **VERY WELL** “ Is the last thing the stag rumbles before bellowing and disappearing in a wisp of smoke. The entire forest erupts into a frenzy. Tree roots crawl and snap, wrapping around the intruders legs and constricting tight. The Spirit moves through the soil, making it thick and sludge-like before reforming into a gigantic white wolf. It’s eyes burn gold as it growls, a sound that rumbles across the earth like thunder.

Fiddleford has to duck behind a log to hide from the debris lashing out in all directions.

He can only pray that Stanford’s body will be intact by the end of this.

Bill feels his whole body snap back as the vines pull it into place. Hello, whiplash.

That magical concoction he threw at the spirit shoulda at least slowed her down, and if not that then the timing of his attack in regards to the positioning of certain celestial bodies. It appears he underestimated the creature, a mistake he will not make twice.

He takes the axe to the vines, hissing and spitting and cursing the whole way. Why the fuck does this body have to be so damn _weak_?

He pauses his attack to touch the vines with one of his hands. He can't summon fire in this body or anything, but he still has a few tricks up his sleeve. The vines begin to wither on contact, but they're still taking too long. He glances back at the spirit, now rocking a stylish wolf form with glowing gold eyes.

"Nice duds!" he laughs. "Gold is more my color than yours, but it suits you, I must say!" He smirks. "So just where were you planning to go from here, exactly? Pin me down? Tear me into bloody little shreds?"  
  
he _tsks_ , shaking his head. "You'd murder such a 'pure-hearted vessel' in cold, cold blood just to get rid of me for a little while? I mean, you have to know i'll be back soon enough! Sounds like a plan worthy of...well... _me_!" He snickers. "Using demon tactics these days, are we Falkor?"

Falkor growls, prowling a steady circle around her captive. The wolf’s lips are pulled back, rows of sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight as it’s pink tongue flicks out. The forest shrinks at the demon’s touch, the Forest Spirit hears it cry and it only incenses her further. Silver saliva flies from her canines as she snaps her teeth.

“ **You made a mistake coming here. Sacrifices must be made for the safety of the forest.**  “ The voice rumbles as the wolf settles into a low crouch, ears pinned against her head and hackles raised.

“Wait!” Fiddleford cries out, rushing forward from his refuge behind the fallen log.

“You can’t!” He plants himself directly between the wolf and his demon-possessed friend.

Bill chuckles. "Yeah, Falkie, couldn't have _two_ pure-hearted innocents' blood on your conscience, now could ya?" He giggles. "And not just any pure-hearted innocents, oh no, they're tragic, star-crossed lovers, swept up by the whims of infinite beings greater and more powerful than they can even imagine, into terrible happenings far beyond their capacity to comprehend..." He gives a mocking sniffle. "Enough to bring a _tear to one's eye_..."

It would be a pain, losing them both like this, so close to the portal being complete. But oh well, it'd be worth it in the end, sinking his teeth in that fresh-stilled, bloody heart of hers. Sometimes these things get a little messy, but that's just the way it is, right?

The vines holding him are almost done dying. Time to see if Fiddlesticks' soft, pining heart would give him juuust enough time to break free...

The Spirit pauses for a moment, the metal and fire that dug into her skin was burying itself deeper inside her, twisting and writhing against her form. But she couldn’t attack now… This one was kind… Gentle. The sort who would look after her forest and respect it.

The gigantic wolf sits back on her haunches, looking at the human expectantly.

“ **State your case.** “

Fiddleford gulps, looking up at the towering creature. “Uhh… uh well… That is to say…”

_Damn it Fiddleford, this is no time for stage fright! Your friend needs you!_

“It’s not his fault!” He blurts out. “This demon… He tricked him, he did! Stanford is a good person! He’s been led astray, he has! He don’t deserve to die!” He looks over his shoulder, brows furrowing as he glares at Bill.

“P-Please… Spirit of the Forest. Spare him. Kill the demon, but spare him.”

The golden eyes blink heavily for a moment, ears twitching.

“ **I hear your plight… But I cannot kill the demon without destroying the vessel** “

“Then just knock him down! That’ll give Stanford a chance to come back and block Bill out!” Fiddleford steps forward, his fist clenched close to his heart. “I know I ask a lot here, but please… I… I love him.” The last words are barely a whisper.

“ **I have lived many centuries, human. I am as old as the trees themselves… You are not the first to plead for your lover’s life… You will not be the last.** “

The voice ripples along the steady breeze, the trees sway as though in agreement of the creature’s words.

Fiddleford looks up, his eyes welling with tears. “He uh… ain’t my lover.” He croaks, though it pains him to say.

“ **I see your heart, Fiddleford McGucket. Do not deny your heart.** “ Falkor rumbles before pausing and looking over the tiny human to the demon.

Bill stifles his growing laughter. Oh, if only Sixer could see this now! Why, he might even throw everything away he'd worked to achieve with Bill and ride off into the sunset with his favorite country bumpkin, researching weird science stuff and living happily ever after! Shame, really, he's absent from this heart-wrenching display. Much like he always is...

As much as Bill would love to gloat, this is the perfect opportunity for a sneak attack. So he keeps his opinions to himself, waiting for the last bit of vine to wither away.

He stares at the spirit, trying to decide the best course of action. Honestly, biding his time until the metal works its way into Falkor's form might actually be the smartest option. And talking to him only seems to make Falkor enraged, so perhaps he should let the hillbilly sob his little heart out first?

Bill smirks, deciding on the optimal location to drive the axe into Falkor's body.

“ **You are a fool to believe mere metal can cripple me.** “ The forest shivers as the beast’s lips curl in a toothy grin and begins to laugh.

Bill shrugs. "Worth a shot, right?"

he twirls the axe around a bit like a baton. "Besides, why would I use just _any_ metal? that'd be _ridiculous_! it's, y'know, all _cursed_ and shit! all that!"

Falkor snorts, her wolfy grin widens. “ **Demon magic. Hah!** “

Bill huffs at the insult. "Hey, don't knock it 'till you've tried it, Falkie!"

He chuckles, reaching out and patting Fiddleford on the head. "Besides, who says this is about you? maybe I just wanted to see the sad look on this precious nerd's face when you rip his boyfriend to teeny tiny bite-sized pieces!"

Fiddleford growls and smacks Bill’s hand away, glaring hatefully at those sickly yellow eyes.

“I’m not letting you hurt her!” He hisses, raising his arms. Falkor’s eyes widen for a moment before she snorts, her form wavering before becoming a wisp of smoke. She reforms as a stag once more.

She will not kill today.

Bill rolls his eyes at Fiddleford's attempt at bravado. "Oh yeah, i'm shaking in my boots over here, Fiddler!"

He supposes he should be pleased she changed forms like this; it'll make things easier. But it honestly only irritates him. So she doesn't think he's a threat, huh? How... _unfortunate_ for her...

He can see why she might think that way. He used to have armies of followers, his pick of meatsuit. Now he has to work with this geek's sad little uncoordinated corpse. Oh well, this is all temporary anyway...

Bill runs his fingers up the edge of the axe, rolling the resulting blood between his fingers. "Yeah, maybe we got off on the wrong hoof, you know? Maybe we could all just calm down and..."

Ford's body has one advantage - it's a lot more agile than it seems. He's at her side in a couple of strides, and the axe is down before anyone else has time to react.

Fiddleford cries out. The whole forest howls as the axe slices through the stag’s shoulder. Crimson pours down the creature’s snow-white side as it bellows in rage and pain. She rears, cloven hooves stab the air before her, baring down on the foolish demon’s vessel.

She leaps out of the axe’s path, placing a well-measured kick into the intruder’s side before swinging around and lowering her antlers. The temptation to crush the demon is strong… But she will not kill tonight.

Bill goes down hard. He always underestimates the reaction of the human body - it's desperation to survive and its fragility at even the slightest bit of rough treatment. He manages to pull the axe away with him as he's kicked aside, crying out as he hits the ground. He rolls over and is back on his feet in a second, fighting the dizziness and screaming nerve endings, his bloodlust overtaking his other senses.

“BILL! LEAVE HER ALONE YOU FIEND! LEAVE HER!” Fiddleford screams, flinging rocks at his possessed friend.

A rock hits Bill in the head, and he growls, glaring at the meddling human."Don't make me _chop you up too_ , Fiddlesticks! Because I'll _do it_ and I'll enjoy every single _moment_ of it!" He pulls the axe over his shoulder, hissing but trying to ignore the pains of an obviously broken set of ribs. He gives Fiddleford one final bloodthirsty look. "So do yourself a favor and _stay out of my way_!"

Fiddleford shrinks at the bloodthirsty gaze in the creature that used to be his best friend’s eyes. His fists bunched on either side.

“ **Human! Do not concern yourself! I do not need your help!** “ Falkor’s voice is louder now, the forest is alive with it’s Spirit’s will. Incensed by her injury. The blood keeps dripping, but it doesn’t matter.

Bill turns back to Falkor. "Whatsamatter, Falkie? Scared to spill a little innocent human blood?" He cackles. "Going _soft_ , are we?"

The stag roars, more ethereal than animal, trumpeting to nature’s forces. And they comply, wind whipping against the intruder, clouds billowing up ahead before rain spills down in sheets.

It’s all Fiddleford can do but duck for cover as the white stag rears up once more and gallops towards Bill.

Bill stands his ground, brandishing the axe. The wind whips his hair and coat around manically. Rain pelts his skin like tiny bullets.

The stag charges, and he smirks. He loves a good game of chicken.

"That's right....come a little closer, why dontcha..."

he steps out of the way at the last second and angles the axe to the side, so that she'll run into the blade.

Fiddleford holds his breath as the stag charges. It’s running into Bill’s axe! But before he can cry out, the stag twists in the air, mid-gallop. Her antlers whip to the side and she spins around on her haunches and rears. She roars as the axe slices into her side. Her hooves crash down onto the human’s shoulders and pin him to the ground.

Bill shrieks as he's pulled down. He twists and thrashes but is unable to move. Damn this weak meat body! He struggles, howling and swearing as he tries to break free. He attempts to use the axe head like a knife.

“ **FOOL!** “ Falkor bellows, cloven hooves pinning down the human’s wrists with a sickening crunch.

“ **DO YOU BELIEVE YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS ATTEMPTED TO EAT MY HEART? YOU CANNOT KILL ME. I AM THIS FOREST. MY HEART BEATS WITH THE BREATH OF EVERY CREATURE THAT PERSISTS HERE. MY BLOOD IS THE RIVERS THAT FLOW STRONG WITH FRESH WATER FROM THE MOUNTAINS! AS LONG AS THIS FOREST REMAINS, SO SHALL I!**  “

Bill cries out, but it quickly devolves into a frenzied, gleeful laughter. "YOU THINK A LITTLE _PAIN'S_ GONNA _SLOW ME DOWN_?"

Well pain and broken joints, but so what if they're a little crushed? They're still _there_ , right?

Bill giggles. "I don't need to really _kill_ you to get what I want, do I? and besides..."  he looks up at her with a vicious smile. "it's not like I've never burned a forest to _ash_ before, you know?"

he lunges forward and sinks his teeth into one of her legs.

Falkor tosses her antlers in the air, snorting and attempting to shake the persistent creature off her. " **And you believe fire will kill the forest? Hah! You truly are a fool, Bill Cipher!** " She rumbles another laugh.

Bill digs his teeth in more, grumbling. Dammit, hard to come up with a witty reply when you're gnawing on a forest spirit's leg...

This is the first time since he started the fight that he actually considers it might have been a mistake.

O well, he'll figure it out. he always does. In the meantime, this is actually kinda fun!

He concentrates on making the grass and plants beneath his hands die, if only because there's not much else he can do right now.

Falkor hisses, stomping to dislodge the teeth on her ankle.

" **I tire of your games!** " She growls before whipping her antlers downwards to crack against the vessel's head.

Fiddleford winces, stifling a gasp.

Bill feels a wave of dizziness spread through his head. No, _no_! he's not giving up now!

If Ford has to reassemble his body when he gets it back, so be it!

"I’m tired of your bluster, nag!" He snaps. The grass around his entire body rots away at an almost desperately rapid pace. "Either kill this sap's meatsuit or admit you're too _weak_ to do it!"

He rams his head into the leg he'd bitten before as hard as he can. Specks of blood spatter her snow white fur. He cackles madly. "Or maybe i'll just do it _for you_!"

He shoots a smirk at Fiddleford. "Take a good long look, Fiddler, because this might be the last time you see dear old Fordsy alive and kicking!" He giggles, blowing him a kiss. "Give his corpse a goodbye smooch for me, will ya?"

The Spirit’s body begins to waver in her form, jagged teeth begin to form in the stag’s mouth, the antlers branch upward to tapering points. She was beginning to lost her patience.

“NO!” Fiddleford shouts, staggering forward. “Please! Please spare him!” Tears well up in his eyes and spill down his face. “Please, _PLEASE_! I beg you! PLEASE!” He falls to his knees, whimpering.

Falkor is exasperated, snorting furiously and pawing the ground near the intruders head.

“ **There is only one thing left I can do!** “ She booms and the forest floor quivers.

She extends her head towards the vessel, deep black eyes stare into the yellow. She calls the vessel’s spirit forward.

_Ford can feel pain… Something must have gone wrong! Something… Something is drawing him back… It’s not Bill pushing him back into his body. It’s something softer…._

_ <Bill? What’s happening?> Ford calls out into the vastness of his dreamscape. _

_ <BILL?> _

_Pain hits him hard, completely out of nowhere. His wrists shrivel and burn._

_ <ARGH! WHY DOES IT HURT? WHAT HAPPENED?> _

Bill shrieks, clawing to keep hold of his vessel, but he can feel his grip on the damn thing slipping, slipping, slipping...

He's back in Ford's mindscape. Dammit! Time to do damage control and work out how to get back at Falkor later.

<Fucking stag attacked _us_! can you believe that shit? She's been holding a grudge against me ever since the earth froze over or whatever! Totally not my fault, by the way! >

<What? _She_? It’s a female? > Ford’s thoughts are scrambled and it’s the first thing that seems bizarre about the entire situation.

<yeah, and she's a real pain in the ass!> Bill scoffs. <look what she did to your wrists! two-faced hoof-bag...>

Fiddleford looks anxiously down at his unconscious friend. “Is… Is he okay?”

Falkor withdraws slowly, backing up with a grunt. “ **I pulled forth your friend’s mind… It can be difficult to do**.”

Ford comes to slowly. His whole body throbs with pain. He hears someone nearby… The white stag is looking over him. The one that attacked him!

He yelps, scrambling backwards before a wave of nausea hits him hard and he falls back against the ground, panting.

"Stanford!" Fiddleford rushes to his side. He gets on his knees, looking his friend over. He winces. Ford is in bad shape, and that's putting it mildly. His wrists are resting at weird angles and his head is trickling blood.

Fiddleford takes off his coat, the cold air sending a biting chill through him. He rolls it up and places it under Stanford's head. "Just try 'n relax...you've been through a lot tonight..." _thanks to that vile demon living in your brain..._

Oooh, Fiddleford could claw out that bastard's eye! The very thought of Bill smirking as he nearly sent Stanford to the grave, blowing him a mocking kiss...it's enough to make rage broil inside of Fiddleford's stomach.

“F-Fidds?”

Ford blinks slowly, his vision blurs and sharpens and then blurs again. His right eye throbs with the familiar effect his muse leaves behind.

“What… What happened?” He slurs. “Bill… Bill says I was attacked…”

“ **The demon made the mistake of entering my forest with ill intent. You would do well to be rid of it** “ Ford startles at the sudden rumbling voice.

“Demon? What?” He babbles.

But the stag has already turned around and is limping back into the depth of the forest, a trail of blood in it’s wake.

Fiddleford uses his sleeve to dab at the blood gathering on the side of Ford's head. "shhhh, try to rest...i'll explain when you're a little more right in the head..." a bit of a scowl crosses his face. Bill says a lot of things, doesn't he now?

Bill snorts. <"demon", that's so rude! I was just hanging out and then boom she goes apeshit on my ass! Maybe it was about that time I told humans about fire? She never liked me after that!> he grumbles. <Either way, she's fun at parties and all, but at the end of the day, you can't trust Falkor as far as you can throw her! and she's like the whole forest, so that's kind of not very far for a human, haha!>

Bill chuckles. <Anyhow, looks like she has a soft spot for ol' Fiddlesticks over there! She always had a thing for the nature-loving nerds, I guess!>

He mutters. <I'd watch my back if I were you though - she tends to rub off on people she likes, and that means...> he pauses. <ok, you can't see me, but i'm making a backstabbing motion with my hands. I'd avoid Fiddler for a little while, just until you're sure! certainly wouldn't take anything he says in the next few hours or so to heart! She just loooooves those false memories and stuff, you know? the fae thing? throwing travelers into ravines and making them wander around the forest until they're worm food? really gets her rocks off that way!>

Ford groans, blood trails down his cheek. Bill’s words seem to blur into one.

“Wha… Avoid Fiddler?” He repeats out loud, his eyelids flicker. “Fidds? Fidds? Where are you?”

Fiddleford cradles Ford's head in his arms. "I'm here, Stanford." he says softly. "Just...just relax..." there's a nasty bruise forming around the cut on his forehead, Fiddleford realizes as he wipes more of the blood away. "D-don't fall asleep or nothin' though!" Shit...think Fiddleford, _think_ ... it's one thing to know what to do, another to think straight enough to use it as your best friend is lying bleeding on the ground...

Fiddleford inhales, then exhales. Now's not the time to get worked up. He pats Ford on the shoulder. "i'm gonna go get the first aid kit, you stay put, and don't fall asleep got it?"

“F-Fidds? FIDDS?” Ford cries out, his eyes roll into the back of his head as he hears rapidly disappearing footsteps.

“BILL? FIDDS? WHERE ARE YOU?” He can hear the rhythmic thud thud thud of his heart getting faster and faster.

Fiddleford sets down their stuff beside Ford and immediately places his hand on Ford's shoulder. "Hey, hey, it's alright, I just got the first aid kit and stuff...I'm here, Stanford..."

Bill grumbles, extremely cross. Great. Just great, now Fiddlesticks is gonna bond with Fordsy and save the day and Fordsy is gonna fucking ignore him the whole time...wonderful, really _fantastic_...

Also, the dizziness is translating into weird, irrational thought, and it's making Bill the mindscape version of seasick. Oi.

Fiddleford pats his hand, lowering it slowly to the ground. "I won't, I promise." He gives Stanford's shoulder a squeeze.

He quickly splints both of his wrists and bandages his head. he looks him over. Dang it, there's no way he'll be able to move him short of dragging him...

"Can ya stand, ya think? Stanford?"

Ford groans. “I… I think so…” He mutters. “I just… I just need to take my time.” His progress is painfully slow, marked by the steady drip of blood from his eye.

Soon he manages to pull himself upright, wincing as the bones in his wrists shift. Agony rends through his side and he retches, bile spills from his lips. He whimpers, his vision goes black for a moment.

“Fidds… Fidds… are you there?”

Fiddleford is by his side in a minute. "I'm here, Stanford!"

He takes Ford's hand in his, intertwining their fingers. "I'm not goin’ anywhere, ok?"

Ford’s hand trembles violently… He wants to tighten his fingers around Fidds’ but his wrists scream in protest. He doubles over, leaning heavily against his friend.

“Fidds…” He breathes. “It hurts…”

<Bill…. Bill? Are you still here?> He reaches out blindly to his muse… Did he leave him? He needed both of them with him… He needs them.

Fiddleford holds him close. "I know it does..." He forces something of a sympathetic chuckle. "'ve broken plenty a bone in my time..."

His hands bunch up into fists briefly on Stanford's back. Dammit, Ford is really out of it...he needs to get to a hospital.

"Stanford, I know it's not easy I just...need to know if you can stand, because if not, i'm gonna hafta pull ya along to the truck..."

Bill grumbles. <you rang?>

He's really starting to get annoyed now...maybe he should come back when Ford is a little more...not fucked up in the head or some shit...

Hrm, but that would let Fiddleford worm his way into Stanford's cushy heart. No, no, he can last a few more...somethings...minutes? hours? fuck, how long is this gonna take?

Ford detects a hint of sourness and flinches away. He ought to not disturb his muse…

“‘M sorry… Sorry Bill.” He slurs aloud, leaning against Fiddleford. “‘M fine… I can… I can make it… I got legs…” He murmurs.

Bill sighs. <It’s fine, just...try and keep your panicking to a minimum. Gotta keep your brain nice and intact and all, right?>

Fiddleford props Ford up. He cups his hand around the side of Ford's face, lifting his head to look him in the eye. "Are ya sure, now?"

“Mmm… Yes Bill… Yes Bill…” He mutters. “I can make it…” He pulls himself, agonisingly, to his feet. Heat pricks his eyes and nausea churns his gut.

“‘M fine… Fine…”

Fiddleford's upper lip quivers at Ford repeating Bill's name. He inhales and lets his temper cool. Now is not the time.

"You'll be fine...just gotta get ya out of here..." Fiddleford pushes his arm under Ford’s, staggering as he bears his weight. "Let's get back to the truck..."

He slings the gear over his other shoulder. His knees shake a bit under the strain. No, he can do this...he can do this...

Bill wills away his irritation for a bit and fights through the nausea. Ford is very malleable like this after all. Bill's been overthinking his approach for sure. <Hey, focus on my voice, pal! You can do this! You've got this! Just focus on my voice and everything will be alright....>

The little twitch on the hillbilly's face as Ford communicates to Bill is honestly just a bonus. He feels a smug grin cross his eye. <i'm here for you, Sixer...always will be...>

“F-Focus on your voice… I’ll be fine.” Ford’s chin drops to his chest for a moment, his head feels heavy and the pain throbs like a persistent drum beat.

He is only just barely aware as he hears the sound of Fidds’ old truck door opening and his head rolls to the side. Bill’s here too… Good. Thank goodness… Fidds is here and his Muse… He will be okay now.

“Are we safe? Is the journal safe?” He babbles, squinting as his eye dribbles with more blood.

“Yeah, everyone’s safe. The journal’s fine.” Fiddleford reaches over and buckles Ford into the cab of the truck. He pats Ford on the shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Try an' stay awake, ya hear me?"

He has to keep him conscious, but how,..?

Fiddleford gives a strained laugh. "If you die on me, I suppose you can't complain about some of the security measures I'll be puttin' on the robot that tidies the lab..."

It feels like Ford’s head is full of rocks, rolling around and around in his head. But despite himself, he looks over to his friend. That’s his friend. Fiddleford. At least he remembers that much.

“Not going to… Put flame throwers on the vacuum robot, are you?” He murmurs, a faint smirk twitching at his lips.

Fiddleford tosses their things into the back and slips into the driver’s seat. He shrugs. "Dunno, might hafta consider it...can never be too careful..." he starts the truck. "I might also hafta consider attachin' machine guns to the moppin' robot too..."

It's going to be a long drive to the hospital, but he can't see anyone getting there fast enough. He slams on the gas pedal.

Ford huffs a faint chuckle, his eyes fixed on Fiddleford’s face. He still remembers.

“Heh… Like the knife throwing door guard at college?”

Fiddleford gives a short cackle. "Yeah, exactly!" He laughs. "I can't believe they got all riled up about that...no one else shoulda been goin' into our dorm, right?"

Ford snorts, his headache spikes and he winces. “You forgot the cleaners remember?”

"Ah, yeah, heh..." They turn a sharp corner, scraping against the metal railing overlooking a sharp drop off. Fiddleford gulps, but only slows down a little. The longer they wait, the worse off Ford is. "Yah see? I need ya to remind me not to build doombots and such..."

Ford instinctively grips the side of the truck, a heavy sweat breaking out across his body.

“And… and maybe slow down a little… It’s not like I’m dying or anything. Heh.”

Fiddleford gives another strained laugh. "Yeah, sorry...yer not quite there...just...just got a little carried away..." He slows down just a bit more. He supposes there's no sense in killing them both now.

Just stay calm, drive quickly but safely, and keep him talking. Yeah, just do those things and everything will be fine...

he glances at Ford again. "How are ya feelin'?"

Bill, growing even more sick and certainly more irritated at all the chummy reminiscing, decides to cut in. <yeah, Sixer, how're ya holding up?>

“I… I feel a little dizzy.” Ford mutters. “I think I might be concussed.”

Yeah… That would explain his symptoms… He has to be reasonable about this. Use his scientific mind. Fidds is probably taking him home.

Bill suppresses a groan. <And that means...?>

“Means… I hit my head… Brain is recovering from being shaken…” Ford murmurs aloud before his head tips to the side.

Fiddleford chews on his lip. He suspected as much. Considering how disoriented Ford is, it's probably a bad one, too. Well, he seemed to remember details of their time in college, so he likely doesn't have long-term memory loss, that's a good sign... "Are ya feelin' nauseous? Foggy? did ya lose consciousness at all?"

“All of the above… Blacked out a few times… Thrown up once.. Probably just shock.” His speech slurs once more and his vision blurs.

“I’ll.. b’fine."

Fiddleford throws one more worried look to his friend before focusing on the road. "Yeah...you'll be fine..." _as long as we get you to the hospital in time..._

Bill grumbles. <really? that's _it_ ? I thought you were like _dying_ or some shit, the way you two were acting! >

“”M not dying… Never said I was.” Ford mutters.

Fiddleford forces a smile. "Of course not. No one's dyin'!"

Bill huffs. <You two were getting all dramatic and stuff, how was I supposed to know that? Besides, look at you! Stumbling around, your vision blurring, your head swimming, what was I _supposed_ to think? > He takes in a breath, trying to dial back his annoyance. <I mean...I suppose you lot are kinda breakable, and getting used to that...well, it's just the way it is, me palling around with humans and being immortal...but you had me _worried_ there, Stanford. I'd hate to _lose_ you...>

“‘M not going anywhere, Bill.” Ford tries for a chuckle. “No need to worry about me.” Though he has to admit it does make his cheeks warm at the thought. “Fidds is always dramatic… I’ll be fine.”

Fiddleford clutches the steering wheel, gritting his teeth. Oh, so he's just being dramatic, now, huh? Broken bones and a severe concussion, nothing to worry about, right?

Looks like he's also no longer important, either, seeing as he did his task of patching Ford up, carrying him to the truck, lugging all their gear with him, all while Bill was strangely absent... but that's all he's good for, isn't it? Doing gruntwork. Because that's about the only thing Bill can't do for Ford...

Speaking of _him_... visions return to Fiddeford, visions of Bill attacking that beautiful, good-natured spirit...putting Ford in danger for no veritable reason... laughing as Ford's body was mutilated in the fight...

Fiddleford's anger boils over. "Oh, fine, you'll be fine...once we get ya to the _hospital,_ Stanford! because that's the kinda shape Bill left ya in!" he exhales, his nostrils flaring. "Maybe if he really worried about ya, he'd take better care of yer body while he's borrowing it!"

“The… the _hospital_? Don’t be so dramatic, Fiddleford! It’s just… Just a mild concussion! It’s not Bill’s fault the demon attacked us!” Ford can’t help the defensive edge in his voice.

“Take me home, Fiddleford!”

Fiddleford feels his anger climbing. "I ain't bein' dramatic, yer head is _bleedin'_ ! Botha yer wrists are _broken_ ! I'm takin' ya to the hospital and that's _final_!"

Bill giggles to himself. _Would yah look at that! The hillbilly grew a spine..._ <Can you believe this guy, huh? He's never liked _us_ , never understood what we have, but now he's just being a total dick about it! What does he know, anyway?>

Bill snorts. <I'd watch it, you know, he's gonna try and take advantage of all this to dictate how things are gonna go, I can _feel_ it! He's just that kind of underhanded jerkass! >

“Fiddleford… There’s no need… I’m fine! You’re… You’re dictating how things are!” Ford sets his jaw, Bill’s words sting.

“Besides…. Why didn’t you take out the creature that was hurting me?” The accusatory tone slips in.

A pang of guilt does find its way into Fiddleford's chest...maybe he shoulda done more...Taken the axe away, forced Bill to leave his friend alone...It never has ended well before, but maybe a few bruises would have been worth saving Ford...

But he did try...he pleaded, he...

Fiddleford feels his eyes tearing up. "I....I did all I could..." He doesn't believe it, even as he's saying it. _Shoulda done more..._ "Look, she was too powerful, even for Bill...I...I..." He can't very well say 'begged for your life', can he? "I asked her to spare you, and she did in the end..." _More than anything_ Bill _ever did.._.  

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Stanford...but that doesn't change things right now. I'm still driving us to the nearest hospital!"

Bill laughs. <Wow, would you listen to this guy? he 'asked her to spare you"?> he snorts. <because that's totally not code for "hid behind a tree and did nothing"! Meanwhile _I_ did all the hard work and saved both our asses back there!> he sighs. <it's sad really...he can't even bring himself to own up to the truth...>

Ford feels his heart twist at the tears in Fiddleford’s eyes, his head swirls to make sense of it all.

“Fidds… Fidds don’t cry…” He mumbles.

Fiddleford is sniffling still, trying to get ahold of himself. He can't very well be crying while he drives, can he?

Ford sighs. “I know… I know you’re not… the strongest… It’s okay…” Maybe he puts too much faith in Fiddleford… Maybe he should stop expecting him to do more than he’s capable of… “Bill saved us… It’s okay."

Fiddleford gaps, speechless for a moment. He stutters, unable to completely believe what he's _hearing_ . "B-bill did _what_ now?"

He's too stunned to make much sense of all that Ford had said. Maybe he heard wrong?...

No, no this is _exactly_ something Bill would pull...just...Fiddleford didn't quite think he had the _gall_...

"Bill did _what now_?" he repeats, a growl lying beneath his words.

Ford recoils at the tone of his friend’s voice. He always told himself Fiddleford was not one to get on the wrong side of.

“He saved... He said he saved us…” Ford says, a little meek this time.

Fiddleford says nothing for a minute. Then, he gives a very hollow, dark chuckle. "Oh, is _that_ what Bill said, hrm?"

Fiddleford grips the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. "Well...isn't that just _interesting_..." he hisses through clenched teeth.

The memory of Bill in Ford's body, pinned down, bleeding, using what could have been Ford's last moments to taunt him and blow him a mocking kiss plays in his head.

Rage courses through him.

Bill coughs. < _miiiindcontrooooollll.._. >

Ford squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. He can’t make sense of any of this! Would Fiddleford really be lying to him? He’s never seen him so incensed…

“Look… Fidds. I don’t know what happened… I’m still trying to remember what we were supposed to do with the stag…” He shuffles in his seat, another wave of nausea hits him but he scrambles to push it down. His stomach lurches.

“I don’t… I don’t get it. Nothing adds up.”

Fiddleford takes a deep breath. It's not Ford's fault, it's not Ford's fault, it's not Ford's fault...Bill is lying to him, and Ford is concussed all to hell...it's not his fault...it's not...

He exhales, relaxing a bit. Just a little bit. "It's ok...can't expect ya to sort all this out right now..."

He grits his teeth again. "In fact, maybe it'd be better if _all_ of us saved talking about what happened tonight until _after_ you've had a couple nights in the hospital..."

_So ya can keep yer lyin’ little tongue glued to the bottom of yer mouth, ya duplicitous demonic son of a..._

Ford nods heavily, resigned. There was no arguing. Not that he was in much of a state to anyway…

“Sleep would be wonderful too…”

Fiddleford nods, giving a genuine laugh for perhaps the first time that night. He glances at Ford, smiling softly. "Couldn't agree more..."

Bill grumbles to himself, cursing under his breath. What a sickening display.

* * *

 

Eventually, Ford finds himself sitting, slumped over, in a waiting room chair next to Fiddleford. He’s there for the next two hours. Small town hospitals never were very efficient. This is why he never went to hospitals. The whole place is far too bright for his pounding head.

Fiddleford never leaves Stanford's side for a moment. He tries to help keep him comfortable but awake while they wait for the doctor, picking through science magazines and pointing out interesting technology that’s being experimented with.

Bill, still irked by the way he was cast aside during the drive over, is sure to make up for it while Stanford’s waiting around.

<Jesus, will you look at this bleak place? Do they wanna heal or kill ya, because the aesthetic here is certainly making _me_ wish I was dead! > A patron beside them sneezes, and Bill retches. <ulch, is this where you go to _get_ sick? Don't they have a ward for people with _head injuries_ ? You don't have the bubonic plague here, and you certainly don't wanna catch it from _that_ guy! >

Ah yes...the bubonic plague...he remembers that fun little shindig like it was yesterday...man, why can't humans just go back to _that_ and leave space alone?

Well then again, he wouldn't be here if humans were still in the sticks and stones and catapults age of technology, would he? Oh well, there's pros and there's cons..

Ford’s too exhausted to respond and is finally, testily, called in by a doctor.

Fiddleford leaps to his feet when the doctor and, with the help of the nurses, carries Ford to the examination room. When the doctor arrives, he hurriedly explains the situation, trying not to seem too panicked when he does, and also trying to keep from describing the cause of Stanford’s injuries.

The doctor that examines Ford has significant bags under her eyes - they rivaled his own! She looks overworked and underpaid.

Bill doesn't fail to complain the whole time Ford is getting examined, either. <Good _fuck_ , is she checking for fractures or handling a sack of potatoes? Can we get someone in here who's not totally sleep deprived and incompetent?!>

“Jesus, what the hell did you do to get two compound fractures and a greenstick in your ribs?” She asks, ignoring his winces and cries of pain.

“Uh…” Ford hesitates for a moment. “...Monster hunting…?-OW!”.

Bill’s laughter echoes in Ford’s head.  
  
Fiddleford cringes. "He...he means...well, we were out huntin'...."

"At night?"

"Coyotes, y'know..." He trails off weakly.

"Mnhmn." She says, not even looking up. She scribbles something on Ford’s chart. “You’ll live. But you’re getting casts for those wrists and we’re keeping you in for observation for the next few days. Just in case you get a clot in your beaten up brain.”

“A few days!?” Ford cries out. He can’t be out of action for that long!

 _Shoulda thought of that before lending a sadistic demon your body maybe..._  Fiddleford thinks to himself. He winces at the accusing tone of the thought. It's not really Stanford's fault… But hell if the whole situation isn't infuriating!

Still, he tries to avoid thinking about it too much on account of not getting too riled up.

He pats Stanford on the shoulder. "That's _great_ , thank you _so much_ doctor for looking him over!" he smiles. "You'll have to excuse my friend, he really is rather fortunate he made it to the hospital safe 'n sound, it coulda been _much worse_ !" He gives Ford a look. "But i'm sure he'll realize he _needs his rest_ and this is _best place_ for him to get it right now!"

Ford decides not to push the issue.

Eventually his wrists are casted, his torso bound and secured and he’s herded into a bleach-white sterile hospital bed among many others. Fiddleford follows them and refuses to leave. The doctor and nurses simply shrug and go about their business.

Ford gives Fiddleford a weak smile. It’s nice that he’s staying. His mind begins to drift and he vaguely wonders how many people have died in this bed before he steadily blinks out of consciousness.

Fiddleford makes a bed for himself on a couple of chairs and lays down near Ford's bedside. "Sleep well, Stanford...you'll feel better in the morning, I'm sure..." he isn't, but at least Ford is safe now....

He doesn't sleep quite as quickly Ford, watching him close his eyes and drift off. He looks awful frail, all bandaged up and lying in that hospital bed. Fiddleford sighs. He's safe now, he's safe...

No...with that demon around, he'll never be truly safe...he needs to confront Stanford about what happened, what _really_ happened, in the morning...

"Hey, Fiddler!"

Fiddleford's eyes snap open. "Stanford?"

There's a vile laugh at that. "You wish!~"

Fiddleford’s heart drops to his feet and he hastily looks around him to make sure no one had heard the sudden laughter. So far so good… Everyone seems to be sleeping or too dosed on morphine to care.

He turns back to those yellow eyes.

“You…” He growls, teeth gritted. “Keep it down, will ya? If you disturb the other patients we’ll get kicked out! And don’t let anyone see those eyes!” He hisses, hastily drawing the pale green curtains around the bed as much as he could.

Bill giggles. "You're such a _worry wart_! he can sleep in the truck or something, can't he?" he gives a mocking pout. "Oh but...that might hurt ol' Fordsy's pwetty widdle head, wouldn't it?" he reaches up and gives it a knock with his fist.

Fiddeford’s hand snaps out and grabs Ford’s… Bill’s…. Wrist. His eyes narrow.

“Don’t… Even… Think about it. I’ll get the restraints, I will!”

Bill grins. "And then maybe I'll just shove ya real hard, and make these bones go _snap_ again! Or I might just scream real loud and then...well..." He laughs. "But anyways, that's not why i'm here!"

Fiddleford feels a cold rush of terror, gripping tight onto Ford's arm before releasing it.

"Ya messed up big time, devil! Ford'll see reason soon enough."

Bill cackles. "Oooooh _you'd like to think that_ , wouldn'tcha?" he smirks. "Truth is, if you keep your goddamned _mouth shut_ , Fordsy isn't gonna suspect a thing! I'm good at making little doubts about me disappear. Got a gift, that way, you know?" He giggles. "Plus he's so _blindly_ in _love_ with me!"

He stretches, moaning, folds his hands under his head and nestling into the bed. "So here's what's gonna happen: Sixer is gonna wake up, dazed and confused. I'm gonna tell him exactly what he needs to hear; something about ol' Falkie holdin' a grudge against me (and that's the truth, i'll have you know!), then her messing with your head, and me takin' an axe to her to save the day! And when he asks you all about it, you’re gonna play along!"

Fiddleford watches him move those wrists with simmering anger. Every word stings like a lash on his skin.

"D-Doc said not to move his arms, ya nit-wit!" He manages to say, scrunching his hands into fists.

"I saw what you tried to do. I'm not lying to him!"

Bill laughs. "oh but you _will_ !" he sits up. "And here's _why_..."

He reaches out and grabs Fiddleford by the shirt. "I think we've been through this before, right? I like yah, Fiddlesticks! I really do! And I love lil' ol Fordsy Wardsy! Honest truth, hand to god!" He holds up his other hand. "But it's not like I can't just..." He shrugs. "find someone else? I mean, don't get me wrong, the two of you in one place at the same time, workin' together? jackpot! you're just the right combination of smart and _stupid_ and tangled up in this ridiculously convoluted web of emotions and daddy issues and secret romance! More than I could ever ask for, almost!"  
  
Bill sighs. "Buuuuut....I mean...you mortals are kinda a dime a dozen! I might stumble upon another fun little network of human disasters the next time around! Maybe even _better_!"

He laughs. "And that's the thing, because I'm totally willing to wait for it! I'm not a patient guy, but well, if I have to, I have to! Besides, 20 years? 200 years? 2000 years? That ain't shit to me, son!" he chortles. "Furthermore, do you really think I need to _kill_ one of you? I can make you or poor Fordsy suffer _quite_ a bit before he calls it quits, _believe me_ ! he's stubborn and he really, really, _really_ has a thing for me!"

He waves his hand in front of Fiddleford. "How do yah think Sixer would like bein' Fiver for the rest of his life, eh?" He wiggles his fingers.

Bill suddenly yanks Fiddleford closer, hissing in his ear. "Or maybe you and I can have some fun, wouldn't mind that! We never _hang out_ , just you and I, Glasses!"

Fiddleford’s whole body has gone cold with terror. They really were just _specks_ to this demon... This _thing_ would kill or maim him and Ford without a second thought...

His throat seems to close up and he can barely open his mouth, let alone form words. His heart thuds faster in his chest. Eye to eye with a demon.

_God, what has he done to deserve this? And not to mention Ford!_

"There's.... No need f' that!" He all but squeaks. "I-I get it. C-crystal clear."

For Ford. He had to save them both.

Bill releases him. "Well I'm glad we had this talk, Fiddler!" He giggles. "I really feel like we came to an _understanding_!"

He lays back down and tucks Ford's arms over his chest. "Just keep all this to yourself, and none of us will have _annnyyyyy_ trouble!" He smiles at Fiddleford, doing his best to make it look genuine. "And as soon as we're done with this portal, you and I'll part ways!"

Fiddleford can only nod, numb from head to toe.

Bill winks. "See ya on the other side, Glasses!"

His eyes close, and a peaceful look overtakes his face. An eerie silence settles over the room. Nothing but the sound of machines humming and beeping and the flickering fluorescents in the hall remain. Like nothing had happened at all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [27/07/2016 9:53:53 pm] moose: (( lol concussions are the worst  
> [27/07/2016 9:54:14 pm] Slidey McSlider: ((things that moose shouldn't know but does: this  
> [27/07/2016 9:54:34 pm] moose: (( luckily mine wasn’t THIS bad  
> [27/07/2016 9:55:26 pm] Slidey McSlider: ((well your good friend satan didn't try to take on a literal forest goddess with an axe he bought from Walmart and got ~~blessed~~ cursed by a drunk devil worshipper  
>  [7/27/2016 5:55:42 AM] moose: (( YEA


End file.
